Weapon of Choice
by Phobos
Summary: Decade after PB - Vengeance and job opportunities mix for a mercenary. Riddick realizes he should’ve killed someone when he had the chance. (R/J)
1. Prologue - Intro to Bloodlust

Title: Weapon of Choice  
  
Rating: R (violence, sexual content, language )  
  
Summary: Decade after PB - Vengeance and job opportunities mix for a mercenary. Riddick realizes he should've killed someone when he had the chance. (R/J)  
  
Disclaimer: I seriously doubt there's a single original idea in this fic. But that's not what fanfics are for - purely fun intended. And if I failed at that, I blame the people who's ideas I stole - *ahem* - appropriated.  
  
Author's Note: This story's for vickle-pickle. vunderbar friend and for sucking me into the PB-obsession. I blame you. ;) (Sorry, but there's no slash.)  
  
When you're done here, go read and review "The Long, Hard Road to Home"  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
1.1.1.1.1.1.1 Weapon of Choice  
  
Prologue  
  
Introduction to bloodlust  
  
  
  
Rain slid lazily over the streets, acridly etching a course. A burly figure slipped out from a hidden archway, sheltering himself under a thick, black coat. Everything was shadows. dark, wet and swelling with the scent of death. The man shuddered involuntarily. His gait was long and unstudied, but he moved faster than another man might hurry.  
  
He didn't like being out like this. It wasn't the exposure he minded, the way his flanks were unprotected or the absence of a wall to lean against. The dark was something he even savoured. But this combination stirred memories that should be left unexamined.  
  
He'd lost one woman on a night like this. Another, he'd thrown away.  
  
"Food?" The sickly voice distracted him. A beggar sheltered under another arch, their belongings surrounding them like a fort. A hand pushed out from the coat, thrusting change towards the beggar. It whipped back quickly as a sliver of smoke left the acid burn on the otherwise flawless skin.  
  
"Damn weather," he muttered huskily.  
  
With the activation of a small remote, a ramp slid down on his path ahead. The turns in his path had led him back to the primitive spaceport. He stalked up the metal walkway and into his ship. Sighing, he whipped the coat away from his head, throwing it to the ground in a sizzling heap. Looking back, the daunting man stared into the sluiced street as the walkway lifted back up, sealing the ship. He wouldn't launch yet. Whoever had been stalking him would get cocky soon enough and, with any luck, might even come onboard.  
  
  
  
An hour later, sprawled in the pilot's chair, he flipped on the ignition. The engines revved smoothly to life, expensively powerful machines. Gravity settled in ripples as the ship lifted off the planet's surface. Grinning to himself he leant towards the ship's intercom. The padded footfalls hadn't escaped his notice.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We have commenced our ascent and request you kindly take your seats, return your tray tables to the upright position and."  
  
He swung the pilot's chair on a 180, coming face to face with.  
  
Third-rate assassin, male, late 30s. Well, fuck that, he flicked the trigger on his handgun and the merc jerked back as he was hit. The plasma pulse wrenched into the merc's chest, shattering his ribcage, gushing blood across the floor as burnt flesh floated into the air.  
  
"Refrain from smoking."  
  
Riddick smirked and flicked his armchair around again.  
  
Endless stars covered the viewscreen.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Maev sneered at the picture. The things that man did with intestines.  
  
"Hotdog?"  
  
She didn't bother to look up, held out a hand and Bates placed it in her palm. Stray sauce coated one finger and she sucked at it absentmindedly, still intent on the photos.  
  
Bates settled down in the empty seat and leaned over.  
  
"Whatcha lookin' ahh-" he paled slightly and placed his hotdog onto the table. Maev bit off a hunk and chewed it, while Bates looked at her in distaste.  
  
"I like to think of myself as not completely jaded," he started.  
  
"As opposed to. naïve, vulnerable. inept?" Maev taunted. She slid another photo behind the others and looked at the work of her assignment.  
  
"It's not weak to have a shred of compassion," Bates argued.  
  
A look of pained shock on the dead man's face seemed frozen for eternity, long after his body would rot.  
  
"Is in this job," Maev bit off another hunk of her hotdog and chewed viciously, "It'll get you killed."  
  
Bates' face crinkled slightly with something Maev couldn't discern. Sadness? Pity..?  
  
"No," he slid back a picture of her assignment, "*This* will."  
  
It was his turn to be confused. Usually inscrutable, her face was awash with emotion for the briefest moment in time. Before he could discern it, it was gone and the mask was back. Her eyes, deep green, still fixated on the face. It was an old photo, tinted with grey over the tanned skin of a prisoner. Like all Slammers, he was well-built - had to be to survive, tall, with a face that showed no interest, no hope.  
  
"Riddick, Richard B," Bates whistled, "One sick, shiv-happy fuck."  
  
Maev frowned, "Takes one to know one."  
  
"I never denied it," the merc grinned cheesily, "C'mon, Maev, what do you want with this one? You don't have a death wish. You know what happens to mercs who headhunt Riddy-boy." The photos laid across the table amplified his point. Maev scraped them into her bag and finished off the last of her lunch.  
  
"Happy hunting, Bates," she patted him on the shoulder and left.  
  
Staring at the retreating figure Bates just shrugged. Someone must've upped the price on his head by a planet, or given her a frontal lobotomy.  
  
Maybe she just had the balls to pull it off.  
  
* * * * * 


	2. Know your Enemy

Chapter 1  
  
Know your enemy  
  
AN:  
  
Italics are thoughts  
  
[marks memories]  
  
[[marks display on digital screen etc]]  
  
  
  
"Obsidian Sun, this is Port Madagascar-989, you are cleared for landing in Bay 130-22. Enjoy your stay," the voice clipped in its mechanical tone. Riddick ran his fingers over the piloting console and prepared his ship for descent. Obsidian Sun had been a capricious choice. It indulged his macabre humour and seemed to suit the sleek ship, with its glassy dark exterior and smooth seams.  
  
The landers barely clicked as they floated onto the ground. A perfect landing. Riddick flicked over the console, locking down his ship and preparing for some planet trading. First, he planned on getting some decent food, then he'd scout the job market. Maybe slice the public stellnet. He withdrew a small square of teleliquid crystal from one of many pockets. It was the only remnant he'd kept of the last merc who'd attacked him. Scrolling down through the entries he came to the one that had caught his interest.  
  
[[LyHAR Move faster. Maev's gone on cougar retrieval. Don't get between. VaS]]  
  
It was dated just days before 'Lyhar's' unfortunate demise. Riddick wet his lips thoughtfully. Cougar, he'd found out some time ago, was a class mercenaries assigned to the most difficult payloads. He was one of currently eight, so it was safe to assume Yohar wasn't hunting two at a time. VaS seemed strangely familiar, but he passed off the déjà vu, the acronym had too many interpretations to mean much.  
  
Besides, it was the Maev who intrigued him. Another kamikaze militia? He chuckled at the thought they wanted to take him alive. That wasn't courage, that was insanity. And it made for the most interesting enemies.  
  
Coolly intent, he left his ship and found his way to the main market area. Rheon 6 was little more than a farming moon. Wide pasture land, beautifully attuned climate and the best grapes grown all year around. Wine afficiandos clamoured for rooms in the sprawling villas. Apart from that it was a vacuous hole of interest for a wide universe. Riddick was pleasantly surprised when he found a public stellnet library and paid the enormous fee without protest.  
  
Settling in front of a console, wolfing down a local concoction, he entered 'Maev' into several search systems. It was more an interest than a preparation. No decent merc had hunted him since the two after Johns, almost nine years ago. He'd spelled out a warning in fragments of bone, flesh and an artistic touch of organs. That had kept them at bay for years, but he'd known it wouldn't last forever.  
  
Riddick swigged back some water and flicked over the results. His primary concern was of course the Rogue Register, a collective of input from criminals. Strange, this honour among theives, murderers and the basest residues of humanity. It had started decades ago as a pet project of one of the richest smugglers of the time. Then it had been smuggling routes, authorities they could bribe and security breakdowns. Through the years it had expanded, almost uncontrollably until any criminal might find some use in it.  
  
The Mercenary subsection was where Riddick spent most of his bedtime reading. Contributers sent in descriptions, tidbits, incidents, pictures if they were lucky, of any known bounty-hunters. Just to access the info required a slicing skill he'd taken years to hone. It wasn't something generally known and despite the careful protection, red herrings filled most of the content. Still, Riddick had used it on many occaisons, even contributed and found the incidental clue.  
  
[Search Result foh//dd2}{Maev} 1]  
  
One?!  
  
Who the hell gets one result? Riddick grumbled thoughtfully to himself. This guy must be fledgling, and even then it was strange that there was so few. Had no-one heard of him, he was so inconsequential? And why would another merc have a letter warning not to get between them? A stray thought wandered by, maybe Maev had just ghosted anyone who knew anything.  
  
He paused before opening the single file. Riddick sent in a cheez to sniff out traps. His eyebrow raised slightly when it returned quickly positive. Cocky little bastard had set up a trap. Anyone accessing this file would be immediately reported to an offsite watcher, their access details recorded and passed on. Riddick smirked and bypassed it easily with more software. The file loadly smoothly, and an animation of a piece of weathered paper unfolded in front of his silvered eyes.  
  
[See you soon.]  
  
His deep chuckle reverberated around the room.  
  
Riddick nodded his head tauntingly, still smirking.  
  
Look forward to it.  
  
He went to close the console before remembering the other search results. The public gallery returned with several thousand, as usual. Scanning quickly down the first page there was the usual amount of glazier and plumbing companies named Maev Inc.  
  
1 Mmm.  
  
Colodon University, Cultural Mythology and Folklore Dept.  
  
Interest peaked sufficiently, he opened the file and scrolled down to the blinking 'Celtic Mythology'.  
  
"Breathe easy," he mumbled as it blinked insistently.  
  
A few more clicks and he found what it'd been protesting.  
  
[.though Ailell was king, Maev was the ruler in truth, and ordered all things as she wished, and took what husbands she wished, and dismissed them at her pleasure, for she was as fierce and strong as a goddess of war, and knew no law but her own wild will.]  
  
A woman.  
  
"Interesting."  
  
* * * *  
  
"Predictable," Maev muttered. She tsked her prey and saved the information to a tlcd-plate, just a standard palm-sized display.  
  
[Madagascar-989, Rheon 6] It was in one of the godforsaken outregions, barely populated, just the kind of place he'd been confronted, unsuccessfully, by all the other mercs she'd been able to research. There was a chance that it hadn't been Riddick who'd found her little trap, but something visceral was telling her otherwise.  
  
She had to admit it'd been a bitch to set up. A feint-trap like that had taken her a month of programming and more to hack it in. Also, there'd been almost a hundred files about her to scratch when she'd first succeeded in breaking into the RR. They hadn't said much, but it was enough to unnerve her and professionally, she didn't like the thought of any of her payloads knowing anything more than what she'd told Riddick. She would see him soon. But that wasn't a reason to let him see *her*.  
  
Maev closed the screen and sighed to herself. She hummed something off-tune as she wandered around her room, undressing slowly. She sloughed off her loose pants and dragged her baggy shirt over her head. Kneeling down, in minimal support-wear, she started the ritual. It was something like what she did every morning, a shiv-katta of sorts, but faster now, longer, wearing herself into it until she would collapse sweatily, unable to continue. Everytime she started a hunt she would prime herself this way.  
  
Maev removed a bone shiv from the band of elastene around her thigh. She rubbed at the mark it left before raising the shiv over her head. Her hands twisted down, executing a series of elegant movements. It was a practiced dance of hands and shiv and body. Her arms stretched out as she punctured the air in front of her and slung a hand out to counterbalance. Maev bent into her knees several times, before standing straight again. Breathing deeply, she flung her weight out, flipping and twisting - her torso and legs moving as fluidly as the shiv in her hands. Without stopping, she continued to cut the air, slicing imaginary opponents into ribbons as she went.  
  
Her mind was silent as instinct ran her. Her feet bounced off the wall as she flipped backward, landing with one knee lowered and enough force to crush a ribcage. It was never this simple, this free, in the real world. She could never fight quite like this - without the armour and weapon-belts - when some brutish smuggler was firing doxocin at her. The shiv swished the air and Maev let her world condense into a honed, ivory edge.  
  
[Pushing and grasping and tearing - never had this much blood.]  
  
Maev pushed the memory away.  
  
The way muscles seem to flow, and the momentum of hair as it snaps your head around to.  
  
[Looking in dark eyes - catching light with the iris until it shines like mercury.]  
  
"No!" she wrenched her face away, trying to escape the face in her mind. Unfocused, the shiv slipped through the skin along her hip. Maev looked down to see rivulets of dark red before she felt the pain. Hurt like hell. She pressed a bare hand over the cut and collapsed to the floor.  
  
"Get up. get up. get up," she ordered herself. Curled into a foetal position and shivering, the woman forced back hot tears.  
  
"Stop being a fucking child!"  
  
But her abuse didn't free her either. His face was there, every time her eyes were closed. It was the scent of blood that was trapping her there - with nothing to hold onto but a vision of a face she couldn't fight.  
  
Eyes flying open Maev pulled herself up. Blood was flowing over her fingers, wrapped around her hip. Holding her hand there, she strode to her bathroom and flung open the med cabinet. She cleaned the wound hastily and wrapped a regenerative poulstice over it. Scrubbing at her hands in the basin Maev let out a tremulous sigh. The face was gone, for now at least.  
  
She slammed a hand onto the wide mirror in anguish.  
  
This job was a mistake. It's not too late to back out.  
  
"Damn it."  
  
She lifted her eyes, staring at the hand. Slowly her eyes drifted sideways and met her face in the mirror. Dark brown curled around the sides, spilling down to her shoulders where it had escaped her plait. She raked it back with one hand as she examined one eye intently. A pool of green, high- lighted by the sharp blacks of the tattoo marking her face. Whorls of reds and blues drifted through the character, forming illusions of creatures painted onto her skin. She studied it and broke into a grin suddenly. Placing one hand over it, she stared at half a face of plain ivory skin.  
  
It's not too late to run.  
  
The smile dropped away.  
  
"Always been too late."  
  
With that acknowledgement she stripped away the rest of her clothing and slid into the shower to let the hot water wash away the blood.  
  
* * * * * 


	3. Strangers with Candy

Chapter 2  
  
Strangers with candy  
  
1 Terra-Standard Week Later.  
  
Salty, sweaty, with the overtone of peppermint that flavoured the preferred drink of the moment. Riddick tilted his head up slightly, breathing through his mouth instead. Flanking him on all sides were bodies throwing themselves around to the vibrations of Acidique. He spotted the staircase, despite the darkness of the club and his shades and moved towards it.  
  
Bodies rolled up against him as he pushed through the dancing mass. A woman wearing only strategically placed cording, grazed herself down his body, kneeling in front of him. Curls of hair were clinging around her face and her flushed skin shone temptingly. She cocked an eyebrow as she slid herself back up his body and stared into his face. Riddick moved closer instinctively, bringing one hand to the bare skin of her hip and stroking. The movement of another dancer behind him jostled the package in his left hand against his knees. The staircase was close. All he had to do was.  
  
The woman in front of him had started dancing again. Like a feline, she was rubbing against him, setting his teeth on edge as she twisted one leg around his hip. Riddick dropped his lips to her ear.  
  
"Name?"  
  
She tilted away, to stare at his eyes as she laughed. Riddick frowned as she shook her head, refusing to tell him anything. He looked at her one more time, generous curves dappled with electric blues and reds twisting in time to the music. Tension pooled in his stomach at the sight.  
  
Been too long.  
  
He felt the package in his hand again and tightened his grip. Rubbing her hip lightly he eased himself away and smirked as she pouted. She mouthed something obscene, and smiled before twisting her hands over her head and turning away. Riddick shook his head and started back towards the stair case.  
  
  
  
The box dropped onto the table with a satisfying smack. Aka, as he chose to be addressed, nodded to Riddick to open it as well. Moving his hands over the release mechanism, Riddick opened the box and picked up its contents.  
  
Aka swallowed.  
  
1.1  
  
1.2 Doesn't have the stomach for his own demands.  
  
Riddick dropped the severed head back into the box and slid it towards his client.  
  
"One head on ice, as you specified. My fee." Riddick crossed his arms and stood sternly.  
  
"Well, we'll have to verify this is in fact Mr Lindor's. uhh. body part," Aka swept a hand to a guard and the man picked the box up tentatively. Before the club owner could even register the movement, his head was being gripped by a very strong hand. In front of his eyes was the face of his ex- business parter. Riddick shifted his hand slightly, and the head swung in response.  
  
"Is this," he asked in a gravelly voice, "or is this not, the man you wanted dead?"  
  
"I don't. I." the man gave a furtive look to the side, but his bouncers were intentionally avoiding his eyes.  
  
"Take a good, long look."  
  
Aka swallowed and tried to move away, "Why, yes, I do believe you're correct."  
  
Riddick stepped back and placed the head down, glazed eyes fixed on his employer, "Brilliant."  
  
"Mr Simmons, give Mr Oberon his fee." Even with his partner's face staring at him in captured terror, he managed to sound like a snide bastard.  
  
1.3  
  
1.4 Son of a bitch.  
  
Quite simply, Riddick hated dealing with this type of scum. Overrun with drugs and narcissim, they'd hire people to do the most defiling acts and then have the audacity to turn their nose up at the result. Not only that, but they always made the mistake of thinking they could cheat him.  
  
Although, Riddick had to admit he was pleasantly surprised when 'Mr Simmons' handed him an envelope with the remainder of his payment with no more fuss. Aka snivelled his regards as Riddick took it and left.  
  
She was waiting by the door. Leaning against it, stretched out like a cat. Riddick ran his eyes down her again, shielded by glasses. One arm reached out, lazily dropping her hand in front of the doorway. Almost as an afterthought, he clasped his fingers over hers and pulled her out behind him. The woman laughed as she followed.  
  
Riddick drew her further from the entrance. Her fingernails scraped playfully along his palm as she slinked behind him. The door far enough away, he pushed her against the wall to examine her. The light of the alleyway settled over her skin with sallow fingers. She was younger than he'd have guessed. Mid-twenties. Dark eyes outlined in smoky black. Sweat- glossed skin and raspberry coloured lips.  
  
Did she taste like that too?  
  
  
  
"Name?"  
  
"Doesn't matter," the woman tilted her head as she smirked. The gesture seemed familiar, but Riddick shook the sensation away.  
  
"Don't you want to know mine?"  
  
She slid one leg up behind his thigh and pulled him into her. "Not really."  
  
He spread his arms, and placed a palm either side of her head on the brick wall. Ducking his lips to her neck, he brushed along her ear gently. She shuddered against him, sending heat to where their hips rested against eachother. Voice soft and low, "Then how will you know what to scream." his focus drifted to her mouth, ".when I make you.". Her breath was hot over him as he pulled her lower lip into his mouth and released it, ".come."  
  
Slender fingers pressed into the back of his skull, pulling him into a hungry kiss.  
  
Sweetness of raspberries, bite of peppermint.  
  
He stepped in closer, forcing her further against the wall. She arched her back, grinding into him. Riddick dropped his hands down to her waist, one hand resting at the curve of her hip as he slid her other leg up around his waist. She stared at him with her smirk, daring him to continue. He doubted she'd had to beg for anything in her life.  
  
Strong fingers slid under the cording and rubbed along her skin. Slick and hot, he massaged circles into it. The grip of her legs tightened and she moaned in response, fuelling him on. Riddick dragged an open-mouthed kiss down her throat, almost tasting the blood that pounded through her jugular.  
  
Her hands worked inside his shirt, scratching over his skin. She traced the lines of hard muscle, feeling it flex underneath her palms.  
  
"Mmm," her purr rolled through him as he ran his tongue over the hollow of her collarbone. Her body spread out before him like a vertical map, hills of curves. the soft plain of her stomach and the hidden depth he ground against. Her breathing caught as he circled his hips once more. Spreading his fingers underneath the covering over her pelvis, he dragged it down. He was tired of foreplay.  
  
Her teeth grated along his neck and she groaned, "Riddick."  
  
The back of her head thumped against the wall. Her arms were pinned overhead. The shiv had just enough pressure at her throat to make its presence known.  
  
"What the fuck did you say?" His voice was low and controlled, fighting back the spike of adrenaline.  
  
"Riddick," she sang, smiling sweetly, ". your name."  
  
"How do you know that?"  
  
The woman arched her brow, "Let my arms go."  
  
Riddick shook his head slowly. He had to give her credit. She still seemed awfully cheery for someone on the brink of death.  
  
"Telepathy."  
  
Riddick moved the shiv just enough to draw blood, "The question."  
  
"Mutual friend," the woman shrugged, as much as someone can shrug when their arms are pinned.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
She rolled her hips along the hardness in his pants, "I thought it was obvious."  
  
Riddick gritted his teeth, fuck that felt good. He took the shiv away, stopping her movement with that hand instead.  
  
"I had a message for you, but I'm not so sure I want to share anymore."  
  
She pouted for a moment.  
  
"How much." Riddick ducked his head in a thoughtful laugh, "How much do you think it hurts to have your intestines trail along the ground. while you're still conscious?"  
  
He looked back to her, smiling calmly.  
  
"Well, most of the pain would be from the incision through the abdomen, rather than the intestines themselves. The visceral nerve distribution-" she broke off as Riddick fastened a glare on her.  
  
"Fine," the smile dropped away. She released her legs from his waist and stood upright.  
  
"No-one ever wants to play anymore."  
  
Riddick felt a pain slice along the back of his knee before she pushed him back. Weakened by the unexpectedness of the attack, she managed to get him several steps away. The woman tapped at her shoe, retracting the blade, before she fussed with what amounted to her clothing.  
  
"I could have had your achilles," she added, "But I'm in a good mood."  
  
Satisfied that she was as decent as she could be, she offered out a hand, "Mohani."  
  
Riddick crossed his arms, "You know my name already."  
  
"Be that way," Mohani sighed, "My employer wishes you to know several things. If it has thus far escaped you, you're back on the 'To Do' list of mercenaries the galaxy over. One in particular is very close on your trail. Don't worry, you're not getting any worse. They're just getting a hell of a lot better."  
  
"Maev," he muttered.  
  
"Give the boy a cigar," Mohani grimaced, "I don't have visuals for you. All my employer knows is she's a woman, probably young. A newcomer to the field. But impressive."  
  
The woman shot an irritated look back up the alley as a group of noisier patrons left the club, heading the opposite way.  
  
"What I do know though is that she's landing tomorrow. Same port as 'Obsidian Sun's parked in right now. But it's a passenger convoy, the 'Emily Deep'."  
  
"Why tell me this?"  
  
"Because I'm paid too," Mohani shrugged, "I don't know what my employer hopes to achieve. Now, if you'll excuse me I have a sex-life to resuscitate."  
  
She nodded her head and slunk away. Riddick chewed over his thoughts. Why would anyone want to help him?!  
  
"One more thing," she yelled back at him. Riddick whipped his head back to look at the bar's entrance. People were looking over.  
  
"She said you'd probably have forgotten," Mohani chuckled and stepped back again retreating near a dumpster, "You always underestimate women. Take a cold shower and you might actually live through this."  
  
Riddick bristled. The people up the alley chuckled, hooted some obscene things and headed the other way. Riddick cast one look back at where Mohani had been, but she'd disappeared.  
  
* * * * * 


	4. The Hunt

Chapter 3  
  
The hunt  
  
Third off was a man. Again.  
  
Total passenger capacity of 30. But the manifest only listed eight places filled, including crew. The names were no help and neither had his scope been so far. Riddick readjusted his stance on the rooftop.  
  
Fourth, fifth and sixth were all men. One of them matched the pilot's mug. He flipped the lid of his water and sculled it. The seventh passenger out was a boy, maybe four years old. The eigth, and final, was another man, trailing after the youngster with a washer.  
  
Riddick ran the scope over the passengers again, but they were all men. Right down to the adam's apples.  
  
He frowned, that bitch better not have been leading him on. Flicking over the scope to bio-sensor, he ran it over the ship. They were carrying a fair amount of food in the cargo hold, probably to make up the profit for the lack of people wanting a ride. No heat signs, or carbon sigs of humans though. Riddick sighed and scanned around the edges, maybe they'd already leapt out a back entrance and snuck into hiding. His scope caught the leg of one of the passengers in the view but he kept looking. Moving down, this time the lard-arse, fourth off, was on the side of the view. Riddick moved the viewer down, before realizing something had been wrong. He moved it back up to re-examine what had caught on his subconscious.  
  
He'd seen a heat signature like this before. And that time, he'd been looking for it.  
  
"Clever girl."  
  
* * *  
  
Maev tried to ignore the itch. No, itches.  
  
The sun beat down unflinchingly. Heat exuded from the bleached ground. Steady steps brushed the suit against her in just the right, infuriating way to rub against her hips. It was her breathing that set the voicemorph at her throat to scratch.  
  
Around her, the market was crawling with people buying up provisions, small parts and snacks. Maev snapped the lid off her waterbottle and sipped some more. She almost spat onto the concrete. The water was hot, warmed by the sun.  
  
And then there was the thick, humid heat. Beating into her from every direction, she felt like she was melting underneath the suit. Rivulets of sweat were pooling at her lower back and along the centre of her chest, settling into her undersuit and causing even more rubbing.  
  
Auto-evisceration is looking better all the time.  
  
A sign caught her eye and Maev sighed in relief.  
  
  
  
An hour later she was stretching in front of a mirror in a private suite. She'd been worried the suit wouldn't survive the cryochamber, but it had done remarkably well. The plastiskin held realistically, giving the appearance of a middle-aged, obese man grinning back at her. The thermostat was low enough to turn the humidity to snow.  
  
"Hmm," Maev flopped onto her bed sleepily, still in costume.  
  
Not long now.  
  
He waited longer than she'd expected. When she finally felt the jab of pain as a needle punctured her back, she was almost too far asleep to inject the counter-drug. As her prey slid out from under her bed, she let her eyes drift shut.  
  
She tuned out the image in her mind. His face, dark and blurry, staring down at her. It was too much like last time.  
  
Instead her thoughts turned to her body.  
  
Breathing slowed.  
  
Pulse dropped away.  
  
When his arms dug under her body to lift her, she was a leaden sack. Completely relaxed.  
  
* * *  
  
Riddick heaved the body onto the bottom bunk and looked her over. Ugly bastard had almost given him a hernia. He pinched at the plastiskin over her face and wondered what this Maev-bitch looked like underneath it all. He left her for a moment as he locked his ship up and brought back the vitals-monitor from his medkit.  
  
She was stretched out as he'd left her, looking like a beached dugong with worse taste in clothing. Riddick thought for a moment. He'd never tried to remove anyone from one of these suits before. Hell, he only knew of two he'd even seen. Making yourself more than double your bodyweight just wasn't as fashionable as it might have been in the dark ages.  
  
Quick check.  
  
No zippers.  
  
Riddick frowned and pulled out a shiv.  
  
Where there's a sharp, slicing implement, there's a way.  
  
He started under her collarbone, pushing his fingers into the plastiskin and pulling it up as much as he could. He inserted the shiv into it and pulled back sharply when red swelled up under the cut. Riddick lifted the shiv to his nose. Whatever the redness was, it sure wasn't blood.  
  
Even so, a little more carefully, Riddick went back to slicing down along her midsection. He shrugged off a tingle along his spine as paranoia. No- one was watching him.  
  
Red fluid continued to swell out of the cut but he ignored it. He went as far as her pelvis and noted the attention to accuracy of the bodysuit with a grimace. Pushing his fingers into the slice in the suit he pulled apart viciously.  
  
1.1.1.1 Shhhhhrrrrp  
  
The suit opened back, exposing a sizeable cavity.  
  
"Blow me."  
  
Riddick gaped. *That*'s what he hauled half a mile back to his ship. The amount of machinery stored inside the suit had to be more than her bodyweight. He bent down to get a closer look.  
  
"Nice view?"  
  
Riddick started back instantly. But the gun against his head indicated, not fast enough.  
  
  
  
The sight of a man with his stomach split open, revealing an array of weapons tucked inside, was too absurd and Riddick couldn't fight back the grin.  
  
"Nice to see you find this amusing."  
  
"If the laughs continue, I might let you live," Riddick growled.  
  
"You're not exactly in a position to bargain."  
  
Maev ordered him up against the wall, legs and arms spread well into view. She kept her gun trained on him, a red dot blinking happily between his eyes. She was too far away to attack and too trigger-happy for him to try. Riddick watched attentively as she wrestled herself out of the suit, slicing parts as she went. Her gun-arm was always too steady.  
  
"You're using the wrong gun."  
  
Maev shot him a nasty glare. She grunted as she pulled the last of the leg- coverings off and switched hands, to remove the rest of her suit.  
  
"No, this would do a nice job of X-ing out your torso," she retorted in a masculine voice still.  
  
She wrestled with the last of the plastiskin on her arm and it shrugged to the floor, like a snake shedding its skin.  
  
"Exactly. Riddick bits ain't gonna get you paid as high."  
  
His taunting hadn't quite gotten to her yet, he noted with disappointment. She pushed her fingers into the seal at her collarbone.  
  
"My employer couldn't give a fuck if you're alive or dead."  
  
Riddick tsked and shook his head, "Trickeration won't get you anywhere. Would've gotten trigger-happy on my ass as soon as you could if the fee was equal either side of life and death."  
  
"Maybe you're giving one of us too much credit."  
  
Maev pulled the the mask off, stripping off the voicemod and letting her hair fall down in a tight weave to her waist.  
  
Riddick's mind emptied, the taunts evaporated, leaving him just watching her. He'd seen the suit revealed piece by piece. It was the entirety that struck him though.  
  
Tall, but not quite level with him. Auburn hair that framed her face where loops had escaped the ribbon threaded through her hair. Her body was lithe, toned as that of any mercenary, but still with curves feminine enough not to mistake her gender.  
  
It was her face that struck him most. Sweeping angles, intense eyes and pale skin contrasting the deep hues of a celtic tatoo twisting over one eye. Not so much beautiful as malevolently striking. She squinted at him and cocked her head.  
  
"Lights."  
  
Riddick had time to register the surprise at hearing her real voice before the lights blinded him.  
  
1.1.1.1.1 Soft and low.  
  
"Cryochamber," Maev ordered. She eyed him warily and waited for him to lead the way.  
  
With his eyes squeezed shut, Riddick stepped forward carefully.  
  
"I'll need my glasses."  
  
"Walk," she grunted in reply.  
  
Shrugging, Riddick walked past her and sensed her back away to keep her distance. She followed him in the same way to the pair of cryochambers in the cargo-hold of the 'Obsidian Sun'.  
  
"Get in."  
  
Riddick turned around, opening his eyes after a moment. The light wasn't as bright here as the rest of the ship. Maev glared at him and gestured to the empty pods with the gun.  
  
"Can't."  
  
"Sure you can."  
  
Riddick tilted his head, "They're both coded. I'd need the password to get in."  
  
The merc's face screwed up in disgust, "Who puts locks on their fucking *cryopods*?!"  
  
"Those who figure they might have a gun-toting merc on their arse?" He was chuckling under his breath, Maev could sense. The man had no subtley. And far too much preparation.  
  
1.1.1.1.2 Damn boy-scout.  
  
She sighed, "Just enter the code to get in, Riddick."  
  
"I dunno. High-stress situation. Got me all nervous and my memory's suddenly shot," he smirked. Holding up a hand, he shook it theatrically before raising it to his chin in a gesture of exactly what she could do with her orders.  
  
Thoughts were running through her head, just beneath the skin. Mercury eyes stared, but couldn't read them. She waved the gun to the left, something Riddick did understand. He obliged and moved.  
  
1.1.1.1.3  
  
1.1.1.1.4 Left hand on the gun. Weaker.  
  
The merc's right hand was dancing over the keys, trying to break it.  
  
1.1.1.1.5 Eyes down.  
  
Her teeth caught on her bottom lip as she gnawed in thought.  
  
It was almost too easy as Riddick dropped to his knees and dragged the gun over his head. Her hand clenched automatically but the shot went into the wall sending sparks and shrapnel flying. Throwing the gun wide, he launched himself at her legs.  
  
Maev grunted as he connected and floored her. His arms were like a bear-hug as he pulled her down. But she knew this part too well. She'd read up on every single fight and kill Riddick had on record, studied them and memorized them. It was her job to know this part.  
  
She didn't try to fight his grip, but pulled out a spare gun and shiv from holsters on her back, one for each hand. Riddick heaved her down to him, face to face with a victorious leer. Immediately the gun sprang into his vision and Riddick grabbed it, pushing the shot wide as he almost crushed her wrist. Maev sliced her shiv into his shoulder as deep as she could.  
  
"Fuck!" Riddick released her as the bolt of pain wracked him.  
  
Maev was on her feet several metres away. She was panting with adrenaline but was uninjured so far. Riddick took his hand from the gash to look at it.  
  
"Cut to the bone," she drawled.  
  
Riddick pounced again and watched her flip backwards to avoid him. He took out his own shiv and smiled at her. Like fangs, his teeth gleemed in the dim room.  
  
She attacked next, executing a kick at his head and driving the blade towards his chest. Riddick ducked backwards, catching her leg and spinning her over. Maev twisted in the air to right her foot and sprung back on her hands. Running forwards, Riddick spun and drew a backhand slice along her stomach as she landed. The metal in his hand sung as it grated on other metal. Surprised, he snapped his head around. Her hands were still above her head as she had landed from the handspring. For the first time he realized what she was wearing. A dark bikini support, overlayed with a full- body lantium-weave. The strands of metal formed a web over her body. It was essentially incredibly light, flexible chainmail.  
  
She grinned cockily at his surprise.  
  
1.1.1.1.6 Slicing moves were out.  
  
To injure her, Riddick would have to stab.  
  
Maev kicked at his shiv-hand, ducked underneath the block and elbowed his solar plexus as she got close and personal. Immediately, she was retreating. He was too strong for her to linger near. As the light-weight, she had to make fast attacks, faster retreats.  
  
"Now this doesn't seem very fair," said Riddick, "You've got a Lantium."  
  
Maev shrugged,"You have a Y chromosome, I have a shiny suit. Call us even."  
  
She darted in again, but Riddick was ready this time. A backhanded swipe caught her ribs, enough to make her flinch into Riddick's waiting grasp. He tugged her arm as she squirmed and flung her against the wall. Her back slammed into one cryochamber, cracking the plexiglass door. He lunged at her again and stabbed viciously down. Maev rolled to the side, causing Riddick to miss her chest but gash her leg.  
  
"Aaah!"  
  
She curled into a ball and tossed herself back over, focusing her mind away from the pain. At least he'd missed her femoral artery. Riddick caught another shiv wound in his bicep as he tried to pin her.  
  
The scent of iron was filling the air now. Deep red was coagulating on his arm as cherry red spurted from her leg, filling floor tiles.  
  
1.1.1.1.7 Paint by numbers.  
  
Strange how humour seemed to fill what might have been his conscious.  
  
She staggered up to her feet and assumed a fighting crouch as Riddick circled her. He jabbed at her tauntingly and the merc flinched. She wasn't afraid, he realized somehow, just a wary fighter. She dropped and executed a beautiful feint and sweep, tugging his ankles out from under him. Riddick broke his fall with his wrists. He looked up at her, dark hair spilling over her eyes as she angrily brushed it away. Both bodies were wet with sweat and blood.  
  
Riddick waited.  
  
For her muscles to relax, for his breathing to slow.  
  
Then he roared, as he ran to her, ignoring the small hand motions she made with her blade. Her shiv-hand was slammed over her head, against the wall as the force of his entire body crushed hers against it too. The artery along his arm throbbed as he held her arm with a strength she couldn't fight. His face was set in a snarl and his breath came out in growls.  
  
Maev felt the metal at her throat. He'd pushed just deep enough to draw blood and the cut was stinging with sweat.  
  
Every breath he took only compressed her lungs more and the air on her face was hot. His entire body was hot. She felt like she was drowning in lava.  
  
"Any last words?" he whispered hoarsely.  
  
"A question," Maev panted.  
  
Riddick nodded. She licked her bottom lip and took a steadying breath before going on.  
  
Maev looked into Riddick's eyes, "What did Carolyn answer when you asked that?"  
  
His face contorted. Confused. Pained. Gradually, the resolution came.  
  
He could see it now. See it in her face and her manner. In the way she knew him like no merc could understand just from police reports and autopsy files. In the eyes that shone with hate, but once with hero-worship. His voice sounded like a stranger.  
  
"Jack."  
  
'Maev' smiled. She moved faster than she had to. If smurfs had exploded from the walls at that instant, Riddick wouldn't have been able to react. He hadn't even noticed her retrieve the smaller gun before he'd slammed her against the wall.  
  
"Surprise," she sneered.  
  
White light exploded in his iris.  
  
Then came the black.  
  
  
  
* * * * * 


	5. Learning Black

1.1.1.1.1.1 Chapter 4  
  
1.1.1.1.1.2 Learning black  
  
I've heard it said that darkness has a character. That it is not merely the absence of light, but another entity. One ruled by the laws of physics, to forever surrender to the garish touch of energy. The dark is a knowledge and a taste. It blinds your eyes to open your other senses. Light punishes what it touches. but the dark. The dark is a creature that snarls against the light, spreading a shield over those who dwell in it.  
  
People say a lot of bullshit.  
  
Black is black.  
  
Until the light fades in. Perfect circles swell up and over me there's a silhouette.  
  
More time passes and features show. Eyes study my face as she bites into her lip. Something is touching my skin with small scrapes of movement. She pulls it back and there's a scalpel, tipped with green fluid.  
  
Words spill out of her mouth, but they don't coalesce. Meaningless murmurs.  
  
The circles tighten and draw in the blackness.  
  
Black is black.  
  
* * *  
  
"Rise and shine," purred Jack, hovering over her handiwork.  
  
Riddick's eyes opened slowly. He blinked sleepily and tried to rub his eyes but his hands refused to move. Looking around, Riddick could make out the details of the cockpit to his right and the bedroom in front of him. Jack was kneeling in front of him, at eye level and looking damn cocky. She'd pulled on black pants and her hair was scraped back into a loose knot, but otherwise she was dressed the same as during their fight.  
  
Couldn't have been out too long. He concluded.  
  
"What did you do to me?" Riddick growled. He couldn't feel anything below his neck. Had she shot his damn spinal cord?! Riddick felt a queasy panic begin to well up. Powerless.  
  
"With this?" Jack pulled the small gun out of her pants. She flicked the chamber to the side and shook out the contents. Instead of bullets, injection phials filled her palm.  
  
"Atrophine mainly. Some other things just to hype with you."  
  
Riddick frowned but felt a surge of relief. If it was only drugs causing the numbness, he'd soon be able to move again. Jack better get the hell out of his way when that happened.  
  
She was still looking at him oddly. Sitting back suddenly, Jack retrieved a disc from the floor.  
  
"I have a surprise for you," she stated. One eyebrow raised, she was a picture of innocence.  
  
"Oh, goody," Riddick drawled.  
  
The disc was a mirror, he discovered, as she flipped it up and showed him the reflection of his face and her. artwork.  
  
His jaw clenched.  
  
It was a butterfly. With a smily face.  
  
"Permanent?" he ground out.  
  
Jack beamed at his reaction, "Not that one."  
  
Riddick flung himself forward on his restraints. Jack wrenched backwards instinctively, landing in a sprawl. He laughed lowly at her.  
  
"Fucking child," she spat and sprang up to her feet. He was still making those husky chuckles.  
  
Jack slammed a foot into his groin and stalked back up the ship in petty triumph.  
  
Riddick was just glad feeling hadn't returned below his waist.  
  
* * *  
  
It took a little while to get used to the controls of his ship. She was used to piloting smaller ships and the 'Obsidian Sun' had several added levers and control systems. Quite a few were part of Riddick's 'special' modifications. After some fiddling, she found the main navigation system and entered the flight plan. The ship altered course gently, almost imperceptibly. Riddick must've spent a fortune just on stabilisers.  
  
1.1.1.1.2 Probably not Riddick.  
  
Jack rubbed her thumb over the license panel as her thoughts drifted out. The ship's name was embossed in the metal, catching her attention. She traced her forefinger over each letter, letting them sink through her skin.  
  
Obsidian Sun.  
  
1.1.1.1.3  
  
1.1.1.1.4 You're not afraid of the dark are you?  
  
A beep on the console broke her attention.  
  
"Should've brought a book." Jack muttered.  
  
Not all was going according to plan. Sure, she'd improvised. But the cryochamber lock had her plans irritatingly altered. It would be a month of travel in real-time and she didn't have nearly enough drugs to keep him sedated the entire time. Even while she'd been binding him up he'd roused a few times.  
  
"Jack."  
  
She shot a glare in his vague direction.  
  
"Jack, Jack, Jackeee," he sang hoarsely.  
  
She spun the chair around and faced him.  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Need to piss."  
  
Pure exasperation filled her face, Riddick noted cheerfully. Even if she didn't believe his need was pressing, she had to realize that sometime he was going to need to use a bathroom. She pushed herself out of the expansive pilot's seat and strode towards him. From a cursory ship inspection, she'd found there was a bathroom to her left with the standard bath/shower, toilet and sink. Upstairs was the master bedroom with only a toilet and washbasin. Further back, where two smaller bedrooms would usually have been on this craft model, a workout area had been instated. Correspondingly, there was no plumbing there.  
  
Two choices.  
  
Upstairs - her newly-claimed bedroom making him within easy talking distance and a minute washroom he'd barely fit into. (1 negative, 1 positive)  
  
This level - spacious bathroom to keep him comfy, far more doors between them if Riddick got loose and she wouldn't have to lug his unconscious body up a flight of stairs. (1 negative, 2 positive)  
  
"Good to go?" Riddick taunted. He'd seen a conclusion cross her expression. Stretching himself up, he prepared for any chance of attack this would allow him. Jack looked at him disapprovingly, the way he was coiled like a snake ready to strike at any weakness.  
  
She pulled out the tranquiliser gun and shot him.  
  
"You bet."  
  
* * * * *  
  
The black faded like it had last time. Circles of light melted into his iris.  
  
No, Riddick corrected himself, stabbed into his iris.  
  
The light was bright, slick. Neon.  
  
"-an't handle."  
  
The dull edge from the drug was ebbing. His face lowered to shadow his eyes, Riddick's senses swelled again. He was in the bathroom now. The scent of bleach covered the wall by his face, while shaving cream and soap stained the air further away.  
  
". Maybe four if the troopers."  
  
The female voice was outside. Maev - no - Jack, the name bit into his mind, was talking to someone in the cockpit. She paused again and then replied. Must be using the comm, he concluded.  
  
"How long've I been out this time?" Riddick muttered to no-one. He craned his neck and rubbed his face along his arm, feeling a day's worth of stubble. It could well be within 24 hours of leaving the spaceport. Standing up, Riddick felt a surprising degree of freedom in his movement now. His arms were bound behind his back with the wrists together, fingers interlocked and wrapped with something he couldn't discern. But they appeared to be attached to a tether, giving him range to move between the sink, the toilet and the shower.  
  
Squinting carefully, he could see the room was no longer as he'd left it. Gone were even his meagre amount of the standard bathroom bottles no-one ever really uses, along with his bar of soap and scraggly washer and, of course, his razor. He looked around more and realized Jack had been quite the paranoid bathroom specialist. Instead of removing what was stored under the sink, she'd welded several pieces of metal over the cabinets, rendering them permanently closed. The towel rack was gone. The shower doors had vanished. Sharp edges had been cut off or puttied over. Even the toilet seat had been dutifully removed.  
  
What the hell did she expect? I'd pummel her to death with the toilet duck between my toes?!  
  
Realizing his boots and socks were among the pilfered items, Riddick noticed he was also wearing a lot less clothes. She'd left his tank-top on, but his pants had been replaced by what he could only describe as a towel- kilt. Two ankle-cuffs also had strings of metal attached, leading to a minute gap in the wall. He moved each leg, finding the strings were long enough not to impinge on his movement at all within the bathroom.  
  
"Rattling your chains?"  
  
Riddick gritted his teeth, "Jack."  
  
"You can stop thinking like that," she stated harshly.  
  
"Like what?"  
  
Jack slid her hands up along the doorframe and leaned slightly into the room.  
  
"How long is the cord? How close is she to me? Could I break her skull from here..? The usual."  
  
Riddick felt a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth. She'd always understood him a little too well.  
  
"Who were you talking to?" he changed the subject.  
  
Jack looked over her shoulder, nodding at the comm.  
  
"My employer."  
  
"I figured you'd be self-made."  
  
"Want money, need someone to pay," Jack replied, her eyes focused on checking over her handiwork again, rather than Riddick's face, "I'm sure you understand the complex economic concepts at play."  
  
Riddick cringed into the light, still painfully bright, "I'm just a hit?"  
  
Jack's face screwed up in confusion and irritation, "You think I'm going through this for a walk down memory lane?!"  
  
Riddick bowed his head back down and taunted huskily, "The creed is greed."  
  
There was a slapping sound as Jack's palm slammed into the light control. The light intensified, sending Riddick into visible pain.  
  
"Don't get fucking sentimental. I'm not here for therapy, I'm here to collect a bounty. And yes, that means money's involved. But I damned well earnt it, and you-" Jack bit her lip, hard. He was getting to her, and he could sense it. She pulled the anger in roughly, the intensity almost bruising her as she filed it away.  
  
May as well give him a fucking road map to my buttons.  
  
Riddick shook his head slowly, with a mock 'tsk', "Temper, Jack."  
  
Her fists balled, her arms tensed.  
  
Something clattered on to the bench next to Riddick before the bathroom door slammed and footsteps thumped away.  
  
He looked over to see his goggles.  
  
Riddick wriggled his hands uselessly.  
  
"Cute," he grated.  
  
Bitch.  
  
Admittedly, he had to take some responsibility. If he'd succeeded in killing her the first time, neither of them would be in this situation.  
  
* * * * 


	6. Phobic Dreams

1.1.1.1.1.1 Chapter 5  
  
1.1.1.1.1.2 Phobic Dreams  
  
"Not afraid of the dark, are you?"  
  
Jack flinched and twisted to see the speaker. But the voice shifted faster than she could and it asked again, with a deeper lulling tone.  
  
"Not afraid of the dark, are you?"  
  
It laughed. Female, male, young, old, something brooding and taunting.  
  
Jack clawed at the thick blackness around her. Something was lashing out, striking at her arms. She could see the welts where hot blood gushed freely. There wasn't any pain but the wrenching terror around her heart.  
  
"Help me, Riddick!" she cried and bent down.  
  
Rolling on her haunches, rocking herself. Wet darkness closed around her.  
  
"- afraid of the dark."  
  
"not afraid of."  
  
"dark are you."  
  
Voices cried out, getting angrier. The slices intensified. Glimmers of teeth and bone and blood-soaked flesh, shone with the light of her eyes. She looked down in shock. Her hands weren't hers. They were larger, stronger and masculine. Riddick's hands.  
  
She was trapped in his own prison.  
  
"Not afraid of the dark, are you?"  
  
The voice laughed at her and she realized her lips had spoken it. They trembled, before creasing into low chuckles. His hands, Riddick's hands, brought a shiv back and then thrust it into her chest.  
  
* * *  
  
Jack sat up in the bed and breathed hoarsely. Every muscle was taut. She was panting in time to an alien beat. Only, the metallic thud that had formed a backbeat to the nightmare continued in the real world. Jack looked edgily around the room before cursing and getting up. She slung on a shift that she alternatively used for training and pyjamas, and padded down the stairs.  
  
It wasn't so much that she wanted to visit Riddick in the middle of the night, or even that his banging had been annoying her (she'd put up with it for 3 hours before getting to sleep), more that she wanted - needed - to get away from the nightmare. And when she couldn't grasp emotional distance, at least physical distance might help.  
  
The thudding stopped as she approached.  
  
Jack glared at the bathroom door and veered to the pilot's chair instead.  
  
"Hello, hello." she murmured when she saw the message intercept blinking.  
  
She noted who the sender was.  
  
1.1.1.1.2 Who else?  
  
The woman can't just trust me?!  
  
Jack keyed in her employer's number and prepared to open a link.  
  
1.1.1.1.3 Chrrr-brrrr.  
  
It didn't take long before the other end opened.  
  
"A little late for you isn't it?"  
  
Coolly official, as she always was, Jack noted with a certain amount of respect.  
  
"Something about hurtling through space that wrecks my conception of day and night," Jack responded lazily.  
  
"What did you want?"  
  
The woman's face on the viewscreen crackled with a burst of static, before settling back into shades of green.  
  
"To check on my cargo."  
  
"He's tied up at the moment."  
  
"Cut?"  
  
"Cut up? Yeah, a bit. Couldn't help it when I was fighting for my life."  
  
The woman on the other end lifted her chin slowly, "I'm not paying you a planet's worth for *your* life."  
  
"He's still fully functional, just. a little sliced."  
  
The woman was obviously. vexed. She frowned in thought.  
  
"Still locked out of cryo?"  
  
Jack nodded in response.  
  
"Clean him up. If he hasn't healed cleanly by the time you arrive, our arrangement may require altering," she stated calmly, "However, if he is in superb health, I might just add a moon to your planet."  
  
The link shut off as it was disconnected from the other side, leaving Jack to flick her hand obscenely at a blank screen.  
  
* * *  
  
Riddick had been straining to hear the conversation in the cockpit but the wall inbetween had muffled it into indistinguishable tones. The second voice sounded high, implying the employer was also of the fairer sex. What was this?! Years of barely a casual fuck and suddenly women were queuing up. Admittedly, to kill him or trade him in.  
  
Something tugged at Riddick's leg and he looked down in surprise. The line of metal, tied to his ankle-cuff was pulled firmly back into the wall. Quickly, his other ankle followed. Riddick found himself bound tightly against the wall, with his previous free-range of the bathroom non- existant.  
  
1.1.1.1.4 Think of everything, dontcha?  
  
Jack pushed the door open sleepily and entered. She was carrying a bucket and several bottles. Riddick squinted over at her and tried to make out what they had written on them.  
  
"Lights dim."  
  
The lights obeyed her voice, much to Riddick's relief.  
  
"Hold still or I'll hurt you," Jack offered as she pulled the goggles over his forehead.  
  
"Ahh," he whispered huskily, "Make me feel all warm and fuzzy."  
  
Jack ground her teeth and moved his shirt carefully to the side. She concentrated on the stab in his shoulder first. It wasn't deep enough that she could be motivated to sew it. Dousing it with sodium peroxide, Jack chuckled as she felt his muscles tense in pain where her hand rested on his bicep.  
  
"Your bedside manner is crap."  
  
Jack started on bandaging the wound with a rough tug.  
  
"You'll never be close enough to my bed to know."  
  
She placed a square of regenerative poulstice on the wound before binding that on firmly.  
  
Riddick watched as she clipped the bandage in place. Then her hands slipped down his shoulder, running in the grooves of muscle, to center on the second major wound. His bicep twitched as she ran a fingertip along the side. Riddick could feel her fingers were cool and slender. The skin was slightly calloused from extensive use and an image flicked into his mind. Fingertips running down from his navel, trailing a languid heat. Riddick tensed as pain once again brought him back to reality.  
  
Jack was biting her lip in concentration as she threaded a needle through his skin.  
  
"Damn, Jack!"  
  
She looked up with wide, green eyes. "Most of the pain should be numbed by the anaesthetic."  
  
Riddick looked at her blankly.  
  
"You know. that thing I was rubbing over your arm for." she trailed off, looking oddly at him. Jack shook her head and went back to sewing.  
  
"Why didn't you stitch the other?"  
  
"It would heal well enough. This one's gonna see more action."  
  
Riddick nodded and watched as she continued to puncture his skin. The pain wasn't even noticeable anymore.The anaesthetic must be fully working. Instead, Riddick concentrated on the sliver of metal skewering his skin, pulling it with it as it went through. Drops of blood welled up over the thread, soaking it red.  
  
"What's that mark?" Riddick squinted at something futher down his arm. Jack was holding his arm at a bad position for him to view it easily.  
  
"That," Jack said with a grin, "is the other tatoo."  
  
Immediately he tried to lift his arm, to examine her artwork. The curves were smooth and the lines straight. It was a single character, seemingly. All black except for a red shadow. Whether that was ink or just his skin recovering, Riddick had no idea.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Jack forced his arm down so she could finish her stitches.  
  
"It's Celtic. A rune."  
  
Riddick stared at her, inviting her to continue.  
  
"It means 'Mine'. That's what you are now," Jack stated lowly.  
  
His face showed his surprise. Her words seemed to convey a meaning he was utterly unprepared for.  
  
"It's my trademark," she retorted.  
  
Cocky bastard probably thought it was a personal wish.  
  
Jack moved over to the sink and wet a washer. She pulled the cool material over his cuts, wiping away the dried blood on his arms. Her hands kept up the circular motion as she rubbed at his skin. But her eyes were staring intently at the wall, watching the pictures her mind painted on it.  
  
"Long hair. Feminine."  
  
"I haven't cut it in a very long time," she stated softly. He heard what she left unsaid.  
  
Haven't cut it since *you*.  
  
"All done," Jack added as she tossed the washer at the sink and left hurriedly. Riddick hung his head in exhaustion and with an ache of something else. Her footfalls retreated back towards the stairway for the upper level before he remembered she'd forgotten something.  
  
"Jack!"  
  
The footsteps stopped.  
  
"The wire on my legs," Riddick yelled. They were still tied back against the wall, making it impossible for him to get comfortable. The footsteps sounded up again, but still headed away from him. He could swear he heard her laughing. 


	7. Rythm. Prose.

1.1.1.1.1.1 Chapter 6  
  
1.1.1.1.1.2 Rhythm. Prose.  
  
Disclaimer: Literary quote from Mary Shelley's 'Frankenstein' & characters' choice of novels does not necessarily reflect mine  
  
  
  
Riddick's stomach had long since given up growling by the time scents of cooking seeped through the ventilation. It was the first time Jack had eaten a decent sized meal since being carried on board his ship. She'd scratched up a few bars of essential nutrients wrapped in tasty fibre, or so the packaging implied, but had shared even less with Riddick.  
  
As a rule, she tried to avoid honing any skills that might be intrepreted as girly, but cooking had proven necessary on more than a few hunts. The Obsidian Sun's kitchen consisted of the regular cupboard with fold-out everything. She'd pulled the stove out and slapped on some bacon a few minutes ago. Riddick heard her humming while she thrashed at some eggs in a bowl.  
  
Jack dug through a supplies drawer for salt and pepper. Her hand caught on a small jar and she pulled it up to read the label.  
  
"Rubar."  
  
Mmm, the man knows how to cook.  
  
Jack looked at the gourmet spice with suspicion before tossing some of the ground leaves into her mix. Pulling the drawer out further, Jack delved in to find out what else Riddick might be hiding.  
  
  
  
Riddick felt the familiar tug of his legs against the wall and stepped back. Whether he fought it or resisted it, Jack always won this squabble and his legs were just too sore to take the abuse today.  
  
Jack slid through the door with her usual lithe saunter. She was carrying a tray that immediately permeated the air with an inviting aroma.  
  
Still in her pyjamas, Riddick noted as she curled up on the bench. Setting the tray on her lap and picking up a book, she calmly flicked a page open and started eating.  
  
"I didn't realize you could cook," Riddick commentated. He sounded nonchalant, but his stomach had caught up to him and was insisting he stage a revolt, break through the metal cuffs, and eat whatever the hell it was that smelt that good. And if what was on her plate wasn't enough, he'd damn well roast Jack and eat her too.  
  
The innuendo took a moment longer to catch up with his mind. An image seared into his mind, igniting a hunger for more than food.  
  
"Omelettes don't count," Jack muttered and took a slow bite from her fork. She chewed it slowly, enough to make Riddick wonder if she was eating it solely to tease him. Flicking the page, Jack's eyes continued to run along the story.  
  
"What are you reading?"  
  
"Something I found on your bookshelf."  
  
Riddick nodded and sat back. He didn't feel like playing anymore. She could damned well find another way to amuse herself apart from him.  
  
Jack looked over the edge of her page and saw her toy had lost interest.  
  
"When night came I quitted my retreat and wandered in the wood; and now, no longer restrained by the fear of discovery, I gave vent to my anguish in fearful howlings. I was like a wild beast that had broken the toils, destroying the objects that obstructed me and ranging through the wood with a staglike swiftness. What a miserable night I passed! The cold stars shone in mockery, and the bare trees waved their branches above me; now and then the sweet voice of a bird burst forth amidst the universal stillness."  
  
"All, save I, were at rest or in enjoyment; I, like the arch-fiend, bore a hell within me, and finding myself unsympathized with, wished to tear up the trees, spread havoc and destruction around me, and then to have sat down and enjoyed the ruin," Riddick completed.  
  
"Mary Shelley," Jack replied softly. She'd considered the books might just be for decoration, but the chill of his voice over the words told her he'd studied them well. Maybe he'd seen himself there.  
  
Jack closed the book softly and moved off the bench top. Riddick watched the way her legs rolled out from under her and her body arched away from the top. Her skirt consisted of two sheets of material on a band low on her hips. The front piece fell between her legs as her knees bent out and the back of her loose vest caught on the table, pulling up to reveal more of her abdomen.  
  
It took only a moment and Jack was oblivious to the way Riddick's breathing had changed. For that moment her face had been sweet and relaxed, dark hair flicked over the front of her face as her body had spread in a way that was both innocent and immediately brought back the earlier fantasy.  
  
Jack looked quizzically at Riddick as he shook his head suddenly.  
  
She slid up in front of him and began feeding him from her fork.  
  
Riddick chewed slowly, as she had. But for different reasons.  
  
The warmth from her body rolled through the air and onto him. Her face was eye-level, giving him time to linger over the markings on her skin. Jack dropped her head to the side, flicking hair from her face.  
  
He took another bite and swallowed slowly. Jack wet her lips casually and waited before taking the fork away from his mouth. She seemed to him oblivious to the fact that his eyes were boring through her.  
  
Jack ignored him. He was attempting to intimidate her again, grinding at the food slowly and staring the hell out of her patience.  
  
"Done?" she asked archly.  
  
With the meal finished, she shot him a glare of disgust and left.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Every day it was the same.  
  
Jack would get up and train for a few hours. She'd pound the hell out of the punching bag before he'd hear the soft thumps of her landing on her feet or hands as she practiced combat.  
  
"Get a better workout with a sparring partner," he'd mentioned one day.  
  
Jack had smiled smugly, "I'd need someone with stamina, not a geriatric in bondage."  
  
She'd usually grunt and groan, thumping things until she'd tire and bind him up against the wall before she strode in sweatily. Then the blindfold would go on and she'd shower as he listened to the sounds of water hitting her body, and inhaled the salt and soap. Afterwards she'd bring him food before retreating to reading. Jack had already made it through his collection of books once and was starting on her favoured ones again. He wondered if she'd be back arguing with him again today over his preferences.  
  
Yesterday, she'd conceded to reading passages out of 'Neuromancer', but only after he had to spend three hours listening to mindnumbing Austen. She'd downloaded 'Pride and Prejudice' just to spite him, Riddick was convinced.  
  
He had to admit he was strangely starting to enjoy the rhythm. The way Jack jolted him through the day, taunting and teasing, never giving an inch. She knew how to screw him up and make him want to squeeze her neck 'til it popped. And she knew how to resist him, and push him out of her whenever he gained an inch. What he enjoyed most were those rare moments when she didn't realize the game she was playing, staring with wide eyes and wet lips like the naïve Jack he'd taken pity on too long ago. Riddick wondered if fucking her would be the same.  
  
  
  
She'd been working out far longer today. Every now and then he'd hear her grunt, almost painfully. There was a louder thump than usual, maybe her hip hitting the floor, and Jack cursed a stream of expletives. Riddick controlled his breathing, becoming silent to listen. But he heard nothing. Not breathing, not breaking, no more cursing. Sitting in darkness, he let all his senses concentrate on the girl outside his room, but there was nothing to sense.  
  
Riddick almost jolted as the door slammed open beside him. Jack left it open as she tread in softly. Eyes open, he saw the way her shoulders were trembling. Barely audible gasps escaped her mouth, faced away from him.  
  
1.1.1.1.2  
  
1.1.1.1.3 Something slip your mind.  
  
Riddick's legs were unbound, he had free reign. And she was utterly unprepared.  
  
Edging up into a crouch, the hunter prepared for the attack.  
  
Her hand shot out to her left, startling him, but it only reached for the tap on the shower. Water blasted against the floor and small drops alighted on him. She'd taken out the shower walls when she'd first put him in here, leaving no barrier between the jetspray and Riddick.  
  
All the better not to hear me.  
  
He would've attacked. Would've pounced and broken her neck with a sweet ease. And he would've realized later that he was still bound in chains that needed a key that wasn't on the corpse in front of him. They could have been two corpses in a pretty ship if Jack hadn't reached behind her then, and if the shiv hadn't caught his mercurial eyes.  
  
Riddick's mind flicked to a decade ago, on the planet of three suns.  
  
"I thought I said no sh-shivs."  
  
"This? This is just a personal grooming appliance."  
  
He scraped the grease off the blade before returning it to his scalp.  
  
In his mind his hand had been wrapped around the same shiv that lay in Jack's palm now, only when she lifted it to her scalp she twisted the sharp edge around the long weave of hair. Instead of cutting, she drew the blade harmlessly along before lowering it by her side. Riddick's eyes caught the faint smear of red on the metal. She hadn't been readying to cut her hair, merely clean the blade.  
  
Trembling fingers twitched and lost their grip. Riddick flinched as the shiv cracked onto tile and spun across the floor within his reach.  
  
Rapt, Riddick ran his eyes along her form, searching for the cut. Jack's hands fumbled with something at her hip and the two pieces of fabric that formed a skirt fell to the ground. The thick tang of blood caught on Riddick's nose instantly.  
  
Trails of blood had formed a maze down her left leg, but the source was still out of his sight.  
  
Heavy training session.  
  
Her hands went up to her back again, this time finding something in the strapping around her torso to release it. The band of material dropped to the floor, heavy with sweat. She twisted at the banding on her hair and released it into tangled waves.  
  
Riddick's breathing stopped and he barely kept from dropping the shiv he'd retrieved, when Jack arched her back and raked her fingers through her hair. The dull light through the doorway sank along the curve of her spine and caught hues of red in the twisted locks.  
  
Fuck me.  
  
Riddick swore in his mind and swallowed on his dry throat. He licked at the droplets of shower spray that landed on his lips, suddenly thirsty.  
  
One of her hands was moving at her hip again, this time undoing the knot on the last of her clothing. The scrap of underwear slid down her legs and crumpled on the floor.  
  
Large hands clenched on toned thighs.  
  
Jack brushed her fingers through her hair again as she tested the water with a foot. As she slid under the water she sighed softly. Riddick would've dismissed the sound as his imagination if he hadn't seen the wave of the sigh tremble down her body. It was a sound full of sadness, like healing agony.  
  
Steam wisped down over the tiles and spread towards Riddick. He brushed it away with hands too solid, afraid it would wrench him into her world. But desperate to observe.  
  
The water slipped over her body, bringing a blush of redness where it touched. He could almost taste the heat and knew it must be scalding her pale skin. Jack hadn't moved for a drawn-out moment and a thought crept into Riddick's mind wondering if she ever would. But even as it settled, a hand sought the scraggly washer. Scrubbing down her body, from her arms to her feet, the mercenary worked with a furious intensity. Riddick's eyes fixed where the washer scrubbed.  
  
Jack clawed at her skin, almost desperately.  
  
Strange, Riddick thought, how beautiful some are even when they're broken.  
  
He felt something wanting to reach, and something just wanting to laugh. A piece inside him grated against the walls, twisting its corners into soft flesh.  
  
Her face turned up into the shower, her hands scouring through wet hair even as she turned. Her body faced him and he watched as the water formed streams between her breasts, over her stomach before curling around her thighs. Red water at her hip coursed from the gash. It looked angry even in the half-light.  
  
Riddick ran his tongue over his lips, trying to taste the blood in the steam.  
  
Jack dropped her head abruptly. Fingers scrunched at the hair at her forehead. She slid down the wall, dropping into a huddled position. Arms wrapped around the legs, pushing them against her full breasts. Her face pressed into her knees and her shoulders shook.  
  
"Riddick," she whimpered.  
  
Somehow he knew it wasn't to him. It was a cry of help to a man she never even knew.  
  
Cut on the leg. first blood.  
  
A splint of memory shot into Riddick's mind. She'd been cut there first, by his shiv, but she'd refused to believe it was him at first. There had been a chilled darkness settling over the evening, enough to obscure him sufficiently for her pretense. She'd screamed for him then.  
  
It was only near the end she realized he wouldn't come to save her.  
  
He remembered that moment.  
  
Hunched over herself on the ground, clasping her knees. And the way her mouth formed a soft oval as she whispered "Riddick" with pure surprise. He'd laughed brusquely, wondering how she couldn't see the irony of it all.  
  
She'd been dressed in a thin oversized shirt, to cover her nascent body. Not quite like the soft curves of the woman she was now, huddled under a shower. Not exactly the same position, but the fear embedded in her had found its physical form.  
  
"Riddick," Jack whispered again. So sadly.  
  
He reared forward and was caught short on his restraints as they reached their limit. His arms were spread behind him, but Riddick's face was level with hers when it shot up.  
  
Jack's skin was white. Her eyes were darker than he could remember, but not as black as the painting over her face. Rain was washing over in trails, dripping off her nose and trickling into her mouth, and only the salted scent reminded him not all the water was from the shower.  
  
Slowly she moved forward.  
  
Closer.  
  
Riddick pleaded with his eyes. She brushed her nose against his before shifting her face to his neck. Wet arms settled around his back and Riddick felt an arm and chestful of saturated Jack pushing into him. They stayed like that until Riddick couldn't remember how long, and the water wasn't any temperature but there, and the sensation of soft heat tight against him - Jack's body - became something more than novelty.  
  
Then she moved. As slowly as she'd leaned against him, Jack pulled away.  
  
Riddick felt her fingertips trail down the side of his face and scratch over the stubble. Her head sank to the side gently. Jack laughed softly. She wouldn't meet his eyes.  
  
Her fingers dropped from his face and Riddick felt his face pull down with the weight they left.  
  
Jack pushed herself back up against the wet wall and left in darkness.  
  
The water tapped on the floor, as unhurried as the ocean.  
  
* * * 


End file.
